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The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 1, Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2023-07-03 09:08:18 +0000 UTCAlright, I’m getting somewhere, now.
Liam thought that he was, at least. Though he had spent less than thirty minutes in House Restelo’s labour camp, what he learned in that time was enough for him to start making sense of how things really worked in Hoburns.
It was a familiar, yet unfamiliar situation. The unfamiliar part came in the form of the people, one of which was helping him pitch his tent.
“Thanks,” Liam said as he checked to make sure everything was done properly. “My name’s Liam, by the way.”
“Francisco,” the man stuck out his hand.
Liam gave the hand a firm shake. It was definitely weird.
As Remedios always insisted, the citizens of the Holy Kingdom were mostly good people. It was unlike Fassett County where generations of consistently terrible conditions and behaviour had transformed ‘terrible’ into ‘normal’. Instead, their ‘normal’ was still good and they were only starting to slide into the abyss that lay ahead of them.
In that sense, the labour camp was a place where people fought to keep their ‘normal’. People seemed neighbourly, there were no overt displays of belligerence, and things were kept in good order.
As if this wasn’t already complicated enough. Why can’t I just have a bad guy to kill?
It was something that Remedios would probably say, but the situation in the Holy Kingdom only seemed to get more convoluted the deeper he delved.
Liam tied the entrance flap to his tent shut before leaving, glancing at the other plots as he walked by. Everyone around him was new to House Restelo, but they took pride in their new positions nonetheless. His surroundings resembled what he thought an army camp might look like, except more lived in. There were eight tents to a cookfire and many were occupied not only by the new retainers, but also by their women or family members.
The deeper he went, the more like a village or town it felt. Women went about doing chores or tending to their children while chatting animatedly with their neighbours over any number of things. It occurred to him that he might become the odd one out if he didn’t follow suit and ‘find a girl’ as Jorge had suggested.
He found the platform with the red canvas easily enough. The entire area around was lit by mundane torches and mirrored lamps that were burning some sort of oil. The platform itself looked like some sort of office and was stocked with organised supplies behind a row of tables manned by liveried clerks.
Sir Luis was standing behind them, his arms crossed as he surveyed his domain. His hawkish eyes rested on Liam briefly before resuming their stern vigil. Liam went over to stand in front of him, quietly waiting for the man to say something. When he finally spoke, it was to someone behind his shoulder.
“Duerte, this one’s yours.”
A short, compact man sorting through the inventories along the left side of the platform rose and walked over to stand beside Sir Luis. He was dark of hair and eye like so many of the Holy Kingdom’s citizens, with an air that made him indistinguishable from the labourers that endlessly toiled around the city.
“Liam, Duerte.” Sir Luis said, “He’s in charge of your sort. Duerte, get Liam on the next port run.”
“Got it,” Duerte said. “Need gear?”
In response, Liam pulled out the dagger and knife he had picked up shortly after arriving in the Holy Kingdom, as well as a file, a length of wire, and a ring of metal picks. Fortunately, the equipment that Remedios ordered hadn’t come in yet or he’d have looked pretty suspicious.
Duerte exchanged a look with the overseer.
“We’re not going to steal anything, kid,” Duerte said. “Our job is to escort the wagons back and forth from Canta.”
Liam put his things away. At first, he thought what he had available looked a bit pitiful. Apparently, it was too much.
“Anything need smoothing out, sir?” Duerte asked.
“We haven’t received any reports about it, if so,” Sir Luis said before fishing a small purse from his belt and tossing it over. “Use that if you need it. The caravan master will handle everything else.”
The shorter man nodded once before turning on his heel to leave. A small group of men gathered nearby looked over from their low conversation and fell into step behind him.
“Who’s the new guy?” One of them asked.
“Goes by ‘Liam’,” Duerte answered. “Since you’re so curious about him, Pedro, you get to be his nanny for this run.”
“His moustache is too big for a nanny,” Liam said.
Several chuckles rose from the men.
“She must have been a great beauty, this nanny,” Pedro clapped him on the back. “Do you know what we’re about, Liam?”
“I heard something about escorting wagons…”
“There is little to fear,” Pedro told him. “We’re to make sure no one gets close to take a nip out of the cargo. The caravaneers find it especially hard to spot people at night.”
“People are trying to steal from the wagons?” Liam asked.
“It is a sad thing, I know,” Pedro shook his head. “But hunger can make a man do things he otherwise would not. Knowing that we’re watching out for them is always enough to keep them at bay, however.”
They arrived at a line of wagons parked outside of the work camp. Only the two at the front were loaded with anything. Pedro handed Liam the torch he was carrying. Unlike the ones illuminating the labour camp, it was the magical sort that Miners and Adventurers used.
“Follow me and hold that aloft,” Pedro told him. “We will come behind the wagons and make sure no one sneaks up on them.”
“You’re screening the left flank,” Durete told them.
“Eh?” Pedro visibly cringed, “Don’t you think that’s too much for young Liam to handle on his first run?”
“You have your orders, trooper.”
Duerte turned and left them to address some other men, clearly not expecting any protest. For his part, Pedro offered none, but the flickering torches nearby highlighted his glistening brow.
“D-don’t worry, young Liam,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”
But will you be fine?
The man was clearly worried about something, but Liam couldn’t tell what it was. He had been so certain of the ease of their task just moments before. They slowly made their way to the head of the caravan, taking so long that the wagons nearly started without them.
“Should I deactivate the torch?” Liam asked.
“No!” Pedro half-yelped, “No. It is night, yes?”
It was, but the moon was out and the skies were clear. The torch might help them see a short distance around them, but it blinded them from anything further. Aside from the moon, all he could see beyond their little halo of light were the torches from the caravan and the other escorts.
Pedro swallowed as he looked up at the torch in Liam’s hand. Liam wondered if he would try to grab the thing.
“How long are we going to be out of the city for?” Liam asked.
“It is a day through the hills to Canta,” Pedro said. “We will rest for a half-day while the wagons are loaded, and then we will come back.”
Liam wondered how Remedios would react when he popped up after disappearing for three days. Hopefully, he would have some useful information to distract her with.
“House Restelo runs things like an army,” he said. “The camp I came through on the east side of the capital was a mess, so I was pretty surprised.”
“Ah, that would be Sir Luis’ doing.” Pedro seemed to relax further with every word. “He made a name for himself in the army, you see.”
“You mean he liked his time in the army so much that he’s running things like they would be in the army?”
“Crazy, no?” Pedro said, “At least for small folk like you and me. Sir Luis is a sir. A Knight. His family has served House Restelo for generations. When you and I were still helping our parents out as children, he was learning how to ride and kill. To people like Sir Luis, the army is the place where they stand head and shoulders above everyone else. They often think back fondly upon their time there.”
“That might be true,” Liam said, “but it looks like the camp is doing well because of it. Things are clean and organised. Lots of people are trying to join.”
Pedro nodded, a bit of pride filling his expression.
“Yes, I believe that we will win. You must as well since you are here now.”
“Win?” Liam frowned as he eyed a freshly-trimmed copse ahead of them, “Win what?”
“Why, this game that the Nobles have been playing. The ones that the city folk have foolishly been trying to compete in. You and I know better, yes? Only those with wealth and power like the Nobles can truly play. Better for people like us to cast our lot with the great lords. To do otherwise would be worse than rowing against the tide.”
He hadn’t thought about it that way before, though he should have.
The vast majority of people in a kingdom were tenants under the nobility, worked in their chartered companies, or served directly in their retinues. Its militant atmosphere aside, House Restelo’s labour camp was run like a miniature fief. Anyone within its borders was under the protection of a Noble house. It had a presiding ‘lord’ in the form of its overseer, Sir Luis, and policing forces divided between the ‘retinue’ that Liam had entered and a ‘militia’ made up of what were basically thugs. Everyone else was a tenant or something along those lines and set to productive tasks.
As Jorge had stated back in the camp, people were paid in ‘portions’. In other words, provisions. Considering what was going on in the country, it seemed like the only reasonable way to do things. Prices changed so drastically that one couldn’t rely on being able to pay for a loaf of bread with the coin that they made, so they settled for the loaf of bread instead.
In other words, people were doing what they were used to doing. With the northern Holy Kingdom in the state that it was, the work camps, with their familiar and comfortable hierarchies, offered a return to their lives before Jaldabaoth’s invasion. It was definitely far better than the expensive hell that the capital was quickly becoming.
“Wh-where are you going?” Pedro asked.
Liam glanced over his shoulder to where the man had stopped in his tracks.
“We’re supposed to make sure the flank is clear, right?”
“Yes, but what are you doing?”
“Checking the edge of that copse,” Liam gestured with a wave of his torch, then stared at it for a moment. “Actually, hold this.”
“Hah?”
“Anyone that might be hiding in there will see me if I walk up to them with this thing,” Liam said. “Stay where the others can see you.”
Pedro gave him a dumbfounded look as the torch changed hands again.
“You are crazy,” he said. “Don’t you remember army training? Idiots who walk up to bushes get eaten by Demihumans!”
“It’s not a bush,” Liam replied, “it’s a copse. Someone just trimmed it, too. There aren’t going to be any Demihumans here.”
“How can you be sure? There might be some left over from the war.”
Liam rolled his eyes and walked toward the copse. That being said, Carla’s mention of banditry emerging as a problem out of the sight and reach of the Royal Army did mean that it was prudent to exercise caution. He allowed his vision to adjust to the darkness before creeping forward. Between the long grass and the low-light conditions, it was highly doubtful that anyone would be able to detect him.
He glanced over his shoulder to see how far the caravan was. The copse was roughly ten metres from the tracks of the worn clay road and the clearings on either side of the route were overgrown. A shallow incline slowed their progress as they made their way between the hills, offering poor prospects for escape should the caravan’s defenders deem their situation hopeless.
The more Liam thought about it, the more favourable the surroundings felt for an ambush. He had to remind himself of his own words to Pedro before he crossed into the woodlot.
Despite the lack of a fence – which he figured had been torn down and sold for fuel – the copse was well tended. It was indistinguishable from a copse in Re-Estize or the Draconic Kingdom, lined with rows of low-lying crowns that looked like they were recently cut. As far as money went, the tenants managing the land probably had no problems surviving. They simply needed to resume their management of the plots of trees that the Demihumans had no appetite for during the occupation.
“Liam? Liam!”
Liam winced as his partner called out in his direction. Pedro may have been identified as a Rogue, but he didn’t have a Rogue’s sensibilities when it came to stealth. He considered throwing a rock at the man, but the conditions that they were in would make it a sneak attack and probably kill him.
Fortunately, he was right about the likelihood of anyone being there to attack them. After skirting the edge of the copse for about a hundred metres, he circled back to join Pedro. The nervous man jumped with a terrified shriek when Liam stepped into the light of his torch.
“Hey, what’s going on out there?!”
A voice called out from behind them. Horses neighed as they were jerked to an abrupt halt. Half of the caravan’s escorts hefted their weapons while the rest moved their hands to the quivers at their hips.
“It’s just Pedro,” Liam called back. “We’re still clear.”
Muttered curses drifted back in response and the wagons resumed rolling forward. Liam fell into step beside his partner again.
“Are you always that jumpy?” He asked.
“I-It can’t be helped!” Pedro protested. “What would you do if someone just popped out of the darkness like that?”
“Put my weapon between myself and whoever it was,” Liam replied.
Pedro stared at him with wide eyes. Liam studied his skinny form out of the corner of his vision. Never mind being the most unsneaky Rogue ever, his immediate reaction to sudden threats was to panic and scream.
The man had supposedly served in Roble’s Royal Army before, so did that mean they were all like that? At the least, the Rogue before Liam wasn’t much of a Rogue.
No, that’s not right…
Aside from that, it was an unhelpful way to look at things. To develop reasonable expectations that he could use, he had to think about how the Holy Kingdom’s citizens became what they were.
Pedro was a Rogue, but he was being kept from realising his full potential by the environment and culture that he lived in. Going by the reactions of most, Rogues were seen as evil criminals and the goodly folk of the Holy Kingdom purposely avoided any actions that might brand them as one.
This meant that they probably had no experience picking locks or working with traps and poisons. Any skills that they did develop would revolve around fighting Demihumans or civilian policing duties. The caravan escort was a good example: Rogues were employed for their excellent detection abilities, as they would be in army patrols.
Attacks and techniques that they used against Demihumans would be unthinkable to unleash against Humans. There were also abilities that were useful in daily life, such as appraisal and persuasion. Mobility and athletics-related capabilities, such as climbing, swimming, and keeping one’s balance while moving on narrow spaces would depend on what they normally did.
Of course, it was foolish to believe that every Rogue in the Holy Kingdom was like that. People like Reynaldo de Silva would probably accept and even encourage a Rogue’s ‘criminal nature’. House Restelo – or at least its labour camp outside of the capital – was not like that. They were stern, but had thus far conducted themselves in a law-abiding and even benevolent manner.
That only added to his problems, however. If he chose to stick with House Restelo, his Rogue allies would be at a severe disadvantage when facing the more unscrupulous houses. On the other hand, sticking with House Restelo gave him a more stable base to work from. It was far less likely that he would be backstabbed – both figuratively and literally – if he stayed his current course.
The road followed the bend in the valley, revealing the next set of copses along their route. Liam shelved his thoughts, peering into the distance and wondering how far they had to go.
“Is the entire way to the coast like this?” He asked.
“Orchards line the road a third of the way down the southern slope,” Pedro answered. “Morning will have come by then and there will be no need for us to do this. Wait, you’re not thinking of doing the reckless thing from before, are you?”
“We were assigned to screen this flank,” Liam said. “We’ll get in trouble if we don’t.”
Caught between two threats, Pedro fell silent. Liam returned to his position on the forward left flank of the caravan, keeping an eye on the surroundings as he listened to the idle conversation drifting in from behind them. The men didn’t seem wary at all, speaking casually on a wide variety of topics. None of those topics were very important in the grand scheme of things.
As he suspected, the men who had opted to work for House Restelo had returned to the telltale thinking of a kingdom’s rural population. So long as things were stable and no one was starving, they were content to let the Nobles do their ‘Noble things’, confident that their lives would go on no matter what happened high above them. The worst-case scenario would simply mean switching from working for one house to another.
Liam’s steps paused as a new set of sounds came from ahead. After confirming what it was, he turned and jogged back to the head of the caravan.
“Wh-what is it?” Pedro asked as he went by.
“Another bunch of wagons coming down the road,” Liam answered.
The man cocked his head for a moment before realising he was being left behind. Duerte looked down from his seat on the front wagon as Liam approached.
“Wagons coming from up ahead, sir,” Liam said.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
“I got nothing,” the escort walking beside the wagon said.
They fell silent for a moment as they tried to confirm Liam’s report. Duerte stood on his seat, peering into the darkness.
“I hear it,” a man on the other side of the wagon said after a minute.
Duerte turned and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Tighten it up!” He shouted, “We’ve got incoming!”
All conversation ceased as the escort scrambled to take their positions near the wagons. Duerte cranked three crossbows, placing two of them atop the cargo behind him. Not knowing what he was supposed to be doing, Liam walked lamely alongside the wagon, trying his best to look alert.
Ten minutes later, a set of torches came into view, resembling a long column of lights advancing up the road. Duerte raised a torch over his head, waving it in wide circles. A torch in the oncoming group waved back with a different motion.
“They’re ours,” Duerte called out.
Audible sighs of relief rose from behind them.
“Sorry,” Liam said.
“You did what you were supposed to do,” Duerte said. “You’re not wearing house colours, so getting close to ‘em might have gotten you killed.”
He wasn’t so sure about that. Duerte’s group took significantly longer to detect the incoming wagons than Liam had. If they represented the average security detail from House Restelo, he was confident that he would have gotten away undetected.
The wagons didn’t stop as they passed one another the night, but a man in the colours of House Restelo hopped off of the other side’s lead vehicle.
“I’ll catch up,” he told his people.
“Cortez,” Duerte nodded. “What’s ahead of us?”
“Harvest’s started,” Cortez replied. “House Cohen’s on security.”
“Damn,” Duerte spat. “They got all of them?”
“All that we could see. I figured they’d be ahead, but I still expected a mix.”
“They give you any trouble?”
“There are two Barons and a hundred Knights overseeing the harvest, so they know it’d be our fight to lose. What about things on your end?”
“Nothing,” Duerte replied. “It’s quiet all the way to the western gate.”
With that, the man turned with a wave and jogged back to catch up with the head of his caravan. Liam silently counted the number of wagons as they went by.
“Will House Cohen give us trouble?” He asked.
“Why would you think that?” Duerte asked back.
“Our cargo’s valuable, right?” Liam said, “Everyone’s getting crazier and crazier over valuables.”
“In the city, sure,” Duerte told him. “But that’s not how the game’s played between the Nobles. House Cohen’s claimed responsibility for the lands around Canta. If caravans start getting raided, that’s on their heads and you can bet your ass that the other Nobles will jump at the chance to knock them off of their comfy perch. They need to keep things nice and orderly or they’ll lose prestige and power.”
It took an hour for them to pass the end of the other caravan. Liam returned to his position, wondering why the caravans needed such a large escort if things were as Duerte told him.
They crossed two more caravans before making it over the pass. On the other side, the first hints of dawn painted the eastern sky and Liam could barely make out the bay separating the northern Holy Kingdom from the south. Dotting the coast on both sides were the lighthouses that marked every port and hazard.
Three hours more saw them entering the orchards that Pedro had mentioned. Duerte called everyone in as a pair of riders in chainmail armour cantered up the road toward them. One of them bore a tall banner and they both wore surcoats dyed in the red and blue stripes of House Cohen. Once they reached the front of the caravan, they wheeled their warhorses around and walked them alongside the lead wagon.
“Toll,” the one closest to Duerte said. “Five copper per wagon.”
With one hundred wagons in the caravan, that still added up to a lot.
“What’s your name, Sir?” Duerte asked.
“Escada.”
“Since when are tolls collected right on the damn road, Sir Escada?” Duerte asked.
“You know how it is,” Sir Escada answered. “House Cohen won the security rights over this territory, but their rivals still found a way to make themselves a pain in the ass. We got the land and the roads, but we didn’t get the customs office in Canta.”
Duerte snorted and laughed. Liam couldn’t quite believe how cordial their exchange was.
“Well,” Duerte said as he pointedly eyed the tracks cut deep into the road by the passage of countless wagons, “your road is shit, either way.”
“We’re already working on it,” Sir Escada said. “Don’t worry: we’ll start taxing your freight along with your wagons once we finally get the office.”
Their caravan’s toll dropped into Sir Escada’s awaiting gauntlet. The two Knights didn’t immediately leave as Liam thought they would, instead continuing to accompany them south to the port. Not long after, they went by the first group of labourers bringing in the summer harvest. Hundreds of them were spread across the orchards to either side, delivering baskets filled with fruit to the roadside.
Liam watched as a girl around his age set down her load nearby. She picked up a bright red nectarine from the top of her basket and bit into it, smiling the biggest smile ever as juice dribbled down her chin. If it were the Sorcerous Kingdom, an Elder Lich would have probably flown down and pestered her for that. They hated it when people messed up the numbers.
“Hey, girl,” Duerte called down as they rolled by, “how much for a basket of those?”
The girl held up a hand and lay two fingers against her palm. Duerte fished out two gold coins and eight silver ones from his purse, holding them out in Liam’s direction.
“Grab four baskets,” Duerte said. “Pass ‘em down the line.”
Liam grabbed Pedro, who motioned for two others to join them. The girl grinned at him as he gave her the coins, a piece of fruit still stuck in her teeth.
Wait a minute…
“I think that was all an act to get you to buy some fruit,” Liam said after he returned to the lead wagon.
“No shit,” Duerte said. “It’s still ten times cheaper than it’d be in the city. They sold us all the ones that were getting overripe.”
“You knew all that before telling me to buy them?”
“Yeah. I grew up on a farm like this, after all. I know all their tricks.”
“Well, uh…thanks for the fruit.”
Dante cast him a sidelong glance.
“I didn’t just buy ‘em to get on everyone’s good side.”
“Really?” Liam frowned.
The wagons had carried rations for its escort, so he figured it was just a nice treat.
“If you plan on getting ahead,” Duerte told him, “you better learn quick. I don’t know half of the men in this escort and that includes you. I’m letting you stuff your faces right now to curb any thoughts of pocketing some peaches for yourselves along the way. That thing I talked about a while ago works both ways. House Cohen would simply love it if someone from House Restelo was caught causing trouble on their watch.”
Liam eyed the Knights riding alongside them, as well as the men-at-arms stationed regularly along the road. None of them reacted in any way to Duerte’s words.
The sun was touching the western sea by the time they reached Canta. It turned out that roadwork had indeed begun. The two Knights who had accompanied them through the orchards to the port offered a sharp salute before riding back the way they came. It was only as he watched their shrinking banner flutter in the evening light that all of the pieces fell together.
This is going to be way harder than I thought. Is it even possible?
Whenever people mentioned ‘the establishment’, caricatures of greedy aristocrats and their idiotic thugs came to Liam’s mind: evil people who heedlessly piled up atrocious acts as if daring justice to come down on them like a hammer. He couldn’t have been more wrong – that image was just one concocted by a naïve kid who thought that he had the power to bring change. Liam, of all people, should have known better.
Better for people like us to cast our lot with the great lords. To do otherwise would be worse than rowing against the tide.
The true establishment was not just the Nobles, but everyone who worked for them. Every man wearing their colours and every tenant labouring on their land. They didn’t have to be a great Knight like Sir Luis – they could just as easily be a girl selling overripe peaches to passers-by. The point was that they all worked towards the prosperity of the house that they served, for their own prosperity was dependent upon it.
That establishment – formed out of all of those houses – played by the rules. They didn’t need to do anything else because the rules were already on their side. The greatest, most ambitious houses of the Holy Kingdom were in Hoburns, and with them came the best and brightest of the Holy Kingdom.
The reality of things was that Liam was just as powerless as he had been against House Fassett. He was a single, small piece in a conflict that involved millions, and he seriously doubted that he would ever find an angle to exploit.
Comments
Gopard
Thanks for the chapter! Well, Indee Liam! This kind of "established system" can only change if the VAST MAJORITY of people gets fed up with the injustice... Now I don't see it happening the way it happened in our world (technological progress, propagation of news, philosiphy and education for the masses all leading up to "the people" eventually regocnizing themselves as "a group" who "ought to have a say in governance"), not to mention the class system and magic, already the SK would NEVER allow this kind of development (or if they did only under incompetent idiots to prove a "benelovent sovereign like KING AINZ OAL GOWN" is the "best choice" for the people's prosperity!) I guess the SK will choose those individuals among Roble's nobillity who are both competent and "good" enough they'd rather work "with the SK" for a better governance in Roble than "against" it while Roble goes to shit! And then get them/their faction in power through whatever means necessary, therefore both proving the "good influence" of SK (because after the change in power things will "suddenly" get better) and turning Roble in a "de-facto-vassal-state" as the government can't afford to have collusion with foreign agents revealed (and if they DO then the SK would have single-handedly upturned the entire economic crisis...).
